


First Sight

by nam_jai



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Post-Series, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-03
Updated: 2009-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nam_jai/pseuds/nam_jai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Tom had not pictured was this: himself, drowsily lying back on a sofa in his parents' home, feeding his infant daughter as Earth's sun dawned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for darthlorexa in the 2009 gen_ficathon. My prompt: "Admiral Paris is reacquainted with his son and meets his new family after Voyager's return in _Endgame_." The names of Tom's mother and sisters come from tie-in books, but these are books I've never read, so this fic otherwise springs from TV canon only. Many thanks to Doug for the medical consult (even though it didn't end up much in the story, it was helpful) and to my beta reader, Sue!

B'Elanna had warned Tom he'd be in charge of 0200 feedings. But on their first night home, the first night on their own (in a way), she had shushed him back to sleep and had taken care of the feeding. When dawn came and Miral was crying again, though, it was his turn.

Throughout the pregnancy, he had imagined these mornings -- only his imaginings had been set first in Voyager's sickbay, where the Doctor would insist B'Elanna and the baby stay where he could dote on them, and B'Elanna would grouse about being coddled until the Doctor was finally driven to distraction and his patients were released to their quarters.

What Tom had not pictured was this: himself, drowsily lying back on a sofa in his parent's home, feeding his infant daughter as Earth's sun dawned through a wide window with a view on a Northern California landscape.

Back when returning to the Alpha Quadrant was no more than a wild, audacious hope (amazing to think that was, what? less than a week ago?), B'Elanna had scoffed at Tom's joke that they stay with his parents. But once the chaos of Voyager's improbable arrival subsided, when the reality hit them, they really did have nowhere else to go. Oh, they could have found housing on their own, but even B'Elanna quickly realized that Tom's mother was right when she reminded them that beyond reorienting themselves to life off Voyager, there was the adjustment to life as new parents -- two enormous upheavals. "You don't have to do this alone," Julia Paris said, and it was B'Elanna herself who accepted her mother-in-law's invitation. After a few days spent at Starfleet Medical, the Doctor reluctantly let them go, mother and baby were discharged, and Tom's new life as a father began in his childhood home.

"It's been a weird week," he told Miral. "How about you?"

Content with her bottle, she stared up at him.

"I guess it's all new to you, huh? It's better that way, trust me. It's all this new and old, coming and going, that's got me all turned around."

* * * *

_Four days earlier_

 

The currents of news and gossip that flowed through Starfleet Medical usually reached the research wing last, if the scientists bent over their microscopes even heard at all about how such-and-such admiral had butted heads with some prominent medical officer, or how this-or-that well-known captain was in for recovery from a particularly nasty run-in with a hostile species.

On this day, however, one of those laboratory denizens happened to be arriving in the main atrium at just the right moment, to find himself in the middle of a gathering, chattering crowd, craning their necks to get a glimpse of some important new patients. And what the young lieutenant heard sent him on a beeline for the turbolifts, off to find one particular colleague -- a civilian doctor who was taking part in a short-term research collaboration with Starfleet Medical.

The lieutenant was out of breath when he found her. Dr. Moira Paris looked up from a console, startled, as this normally reserved recent Academy graduate careened up to her.

"Juan? Did you run here? I know Commander T'Pir is a stickler, but you do know you're ten minutes early, don't you?"

He waved a hand about in a kind of flustered gesture of dismissal, before he finally got it out: "Just came from the atrium. It's crazy up there. Voyager -- the ship is back. They were admitting a woman, a crew member, and a newborn. I think your brother was with them. I heard him called Lieutenant Paris, anyway--"

Moira had already stood, and now, just pausing to grasp Juan's arm in thanks, she was off and running herself, into the turbolift, hopping impatiently as she told it to take her to the maternity ward.

Her heart was pounding as the door slid open, where she was greeted by a sight of controlled chaos -- more people than this ward normally saw, she was sure, and that included a uniformed guard who tried to block Moira's way.

She handily ducked around him and marched up to the nurse's station. The woman there flicked her eyes between Moira and the guard who followed her, and she set her mouth in a tight line.

"Where is the Paris family?" Moira asked.

"Ma'am," the nurse said, "this is not the place for gawkers. We have other patients--"

The guard seized Moira's right arm, but with her left hand, she held out her temporary pass. "Where is my brother?"

The nurse raised her eyebrows at the name she read there, and then told the guard, "Let her go. She's here to see family."

As she was released, Moira spotted him: a blond young man -- but not as young as she remembered him -- in a red Starfleet uniform, surrounded by people she didn't recognize, or maybe she might have, if she paid them the slightest bit of attention. Whoever they were, they didn't matter. Dodging and, when necessary, even pushing her way through this crowd of non-entities, she reached him, and threw her arms around her baby brother.

For two years they had grieved his death, and longer before that, the twilight land of his loss, on a missing starship, in prison, wasting his life away in dive bars -- lost for so long. Even when they had learned he was alive ... it was not like this miracle.

Moira pulled back and held his tired, smiling face in her hands. "You're really here," she said.

"Yeah, I think." He looked beyond her to the room, and she read the question before he asked.

"I don't know where anyone else is. I didn't come with the family. I was already here, and heard the news. Does anyone else even know?"

"Dad knows. He was on duty when we showed up."

"So you've seen him?"

"On a viewscreen. But then there was the baby, and about a hundred strangers swarming over our ship, and before I knew it -- I swear, I don't even know how we ended up here. It's all been kind of ... disorienting."

He didn't volunteer how exactly Voyager had "shown up," and Moira was content to hear that story later -- as she suspected he would ask her later how Dad had at last roped her into working for Starfleet. For now, there was a far more important question: "The baby?"

"Born in the Alpha Quadrant -- just barely." He grinned as he glanced down a hallway leading to patients' rooms. "And now, I think I've got to save B'Elanna from the Starfleet doctors -- or maybe vice versa. So do you want to meet my wife and daughter?"

Moira gave a giddy laugh. "Been waiting for ages."

* * * *

B'Elanna was trying very hard to keep her temper in check, but she thought she was being remarkably patient with the Starfleet doctors. One Starfleet doctor in particular, the one standing at her bedside, where she was sitting up, cradling Miral. And now her husband entered the room with yet _another_ strange doctor trailing behind him -- this one in civilian clothing, but the white coat was a sight B'Elanna was starting to dread.

"Tom," she said, "I need you to talk to this person. I need you to back me up."

Tom looked warily at the Starfleet doctor. "Talk to him about what?"

"Mr. Paris, I'm Dr. Wenzer." Bemused, Tom took the offered handshake as the doctor continued. "I have been put in charge of your wife and daughter's post-natal care." He waved a PADD for emphasis. "There are routine tests and screenings for both human and Klingon newborns, but Lieutenant Torres is--"

"I don't object to tests," B'Elanna interjected. "What I object to is being assigned a doctor when we have a doctor. A doctor who delivered this baby safely, while we were under attack from the Borg, no less, and now he's not good enough? No." She looked to Tom. "Where is he?"

"The Doc? He's here, he's just filling them in on your complete medical history. But speaking of, Dr. Wenzer, shouldn't you have that in hand _before_ you start ordering tests?"

Wenzer bristled. "These are routine tests, regardless of medical history."

"And you have to jump to them now?" asked the female doctor who had come in with Tom. "Can't you give them a rest?"

"And you are?" Wenzer asked.

Before the woman could answer, B'Elanna told her, "Look, thanks for your input -- and, yes, one moment of peace would be nice. But that's not the point. I don't need every doctor in this hospital treating me or my child. Not you, not him. What I want is _our_ Doctor."

"I, um, have no objection," the woman said. "I'm not here in a professional capacity."

"Well, that's one down," B'Elanna growled.

Unexpectedly, Tom laughed. "B'Elanna, let me introduce you to my sister, Moira."

"Oh!" B'Elanna blinked. "I'm sorry, I should have recognized you from photos, it's just..."

"No, I completely understand. Completely." Now Moira joined Tom at the bedside. "And who is this?"

"Miral," B'Elanna answered, relaxing into a smile for the first time since she had arrived in this place.

Dr. Wenzer, apparently trying to take advantage of the ease in tension, interrupted as Moira leaned over to coo at the baby. "Now that you have family here," he said, "that's all right, we can wait. I'll review the medical history, and be back later to--"

"What about our Doctor?" Tom said, crossing his arms.

Seeing this renewed resistance, Dr. Wenzer seemed to lose patience -- enough for an outburst of bafflement. "He's an emergency medical _hologram_. None of you has been attended by a real physician for seven years! I'd think you'd want to take advantage of everything an Earth facility has to offer."

B'Elanna opened her mouth for a retort, but their attention was drawn by a theatrically discreet throat-clearing at the door. There stood Voyager's Doctor -- with his patented stoic-yet-wounded expression -- and an older man B'Elanna knew only by sight. She glanced at Tom, who had straightened automatically, like some long-ago conditioning had kicked in, his eyes wide.

Dr. Wenzer had straightened to attention as well -- likely just at the sight of an admiral's uniform. "Sir," he said.

Admiral Owen Paris gave a lingering look at the group by the bed, before turning to Wenzer. "May I speak with you?"

"Of course, sir."

"Come with me." To Voyager's EMH, he added, "You too, Doctor." And they left.

It was a contrast, the brother and sister standing at B'Elanna's bedside. Moira looked happy, mildly curious about her father's actions. She didn't look like she had had the wind knocked out of her -- unlike Tom, who was staring at the just-closed door.

She took his hand. "Tom?"

"Yeah." He tore his eyes away from the place where Admiral Paris had just been, and managed a smile. "Am I really here?"

"We both are. For better or for worse."

"It's just ... There've been letters, and something like seeing him face-to-face, on a viewscreen anyway. Why is this so ..." A wry laugh tried to cover the truth of the word: "...terrifying?"

"People do change," Moira said.

"Even Dad?"

"Yes. And even you."

When the door reopened, only Admiral Paris returned. To B'Elanna's surprise, he addressed her.

"I informed Dr. Wenzer that while a shipboard doctor following a patient to Starfleet Medical is not usual procedure, it's also not unprecedented, and under the exceptional circumstances, your wishes should be respected. Of course, a doctor here ought to be a liaison to the official medical staff -- that is the best I can do, Ms. Torres," he said, apparently anticipating her objection. "But I told Dr. Wenzer that if he was not willing to work with Voyager's EMH as fellow physician, I would ask Admiral Gilson to find someone on staff who would be willing. And so Dr. Wenzer found it in himself to give your Doctor a chance. They're in consultation as we speak."

"Thank you," B'Elanna said.

"On more personal matters, Voyager's arrival was unexpected, needless to say, and your father, Ms. Torres, is currently on business in deep space. I've contacted him, and informed him of your return, and of the birth of his grandchild. He should be able to travel back here within two weeks."

Admiral Paris couldn't know how B'Elanna's instinctual reaction was to postpone such a meeting, let John Torres find his way back at some distant date. But that instinct was followed by a new wave of hopeful anticipation. So again, she said in a subdued voice, "Thank you."

"Tom, your mother and Kathleen are on their way. Although there may be limits to the number of visitors allowed, and if this room gets any more crowded, I'm not sure your wife would want me to overrule that restriction."

B'Elanna found herself chuckling with the admiral, and she let go of Tom's hand, a gesture to him, a message: _Go on. _

He did inch a bit closer toward his father, but said, "I always thought you didn't believe in using your rank to get favors."

"Exceptional circumstances, Tom. Don't think I'll make a habit of it."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare."

B'Elanna recognized well the defensiveness behind Tom's light tone, but then she saw his smile subtly change to something more genuine, something like joy.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," he muttered -- to himself, B'Elanna guessed -- and then he walked over and embraced his father.

The admiral's voice was rough with contained emotion. "Welcome home, son."

* * * *

_People do change._ But it took some getting used to, this mellowed version of his father. And that was depending how long it lasted, once the euphoria of reunion completely wore off, Tom thought. But Moira was right, it wasn't just the admiral who had changed -- Tom had changed too.

All the same, as he watched Miral on that early morning several days later, he could still hope that it wouldn't take thirty years before this child could look to her father and believe, "He loves me, unconditionally. No matter what."

That she might ever think otherwise -- it was a fear that crept around the edges of happier daydreams, of the places he'd take her, the adventures they'd have as she grew, from sailboats to starships to the Klingon homeworld ...

Tom's reverie was disturbed by the sound of another being awake in this house. It could only be one person -- Dad had always been an early riser, absurdly early, to Tom's mind. Though still in nightclothes and a dressing gown, Admiral Paris looked far more alert and awake than his son felt. Of course.

Tom gingerly pulled himself up, trying not to disturb Miral, who was just finishing her bottle. "Getting ready for work?"

"No, not today."

"You're taking the day off? Don't you have 145 of my former shipmates to debrief, all the way down to Naomi Wildman?"

"Ms. Wildman has already given Pathfinder a thorough report. Once that important work was completed, I thought both Voyager's crew and the Pathfinder staff could stand a break. And it was your captain who convinced me that I should include myself. She sends her regards. And says to tell you that she'll give you a few days to settle in before she'll insist on coming to see the baby."

"No problem here. Pick a night and set another place for dinner." With one arm, Tom was awkwardly stretching to grab a burp cloth that he had inattentively dropped just beyond his reach before he had sat down.

His dad picked the cloth up, but instead of handing it over, he held out both hands. "May I?"

"Uh, sure."

Gently, Tom handed Miral over, and his father found an armchair, settling in and placing the baby to his shoulder, starting to pat her back. "It's been a long time since I've done this. I think the last one might have been you. People don't seem to hand me babies very often."

There was a pause in which they both looked out at the sunrise; Admiral Paris looked content, while Tom's mind worried over questions he wanted to ask, things he didn't know if he wanted to say but maybe he should. _Did you ever get that letter I wrote from Voyager's brig? _ There was a big one.

Tom took the easy way out, for now. "Dad, I didn't get a chance to thank you, for what you did at Starfleet Medical, getting the Doctor in."

The admiral nodded. "Those of us who've been part of Pathfinder can't help but view him as a person, but it's not going to be easy for your Doctor, outside of what you might call the extended Voyager community."

"Believe me, I know -- he'll be the first to tell you. But what you did, I meant to say, it's more than that. Even if Voyager had had a human doctor, it wouldn't have meant that person could take care of B'Elanna and Miral at Starfleet Medical."

The admiral took the baby down from his shoulder and cradled her. "I had to make sure my granddaughter had the best, didn't I?"

Something in the way he looked down at Miral brought an almost disbelieving grin to Tom's face. "You are going to spoil that girl rotten, aren't you?"

"What are grandfathers for?"

His father was smitten with that little baby, Tom thought, and, well, who wouldn't be?

Another silence settled, but this one felt companionable. Just for this moment. Talk about the past or the thornier questions of the future could come later. Just now, it was enough for Tom to lean back, close his eyes with a smile, feeling the presence of the other two, and the sun of home shining in.

****

The End


End file.
